sighs The bunnies, they won't leave me alone. Ah well. This is a character study that occured to me... roughly twenty-four hours ago. This is the type of thing that pops up after fights with my parents, yes. Sad and a little dark and possibly depressing. But, hey, it lets me get my feelings out, so...
Anyway, no real plot, just exploring an idea. Only now Jazz is demanding an introduction to Prowl, and I really don't wanna deal with it right now. After all, Sideswipe, Perceptor, and Dion are also demanding more ficcage. It just never ends, does it?
Disclaimer: If I owned Tranformers, all the ideas would drive me to my deathbed. I'm still alive. Please, draw the logical conclusion.
The beat pulsed, seeming to warp the air. It was fast, unyielding, screaming almost. It was not a gentle tune, but that was all right. It was… almost fitting, or would have been.
Jazz wasn't sure that anything could really fit him. Not with music at least. Feeling was just too hard for him – actually feeling that is. He can fake just about any emotion, in a way. Conjure it up, force himself to feel a muted version of what he should be feeling, yet can't quite seem to. It's frustrating, the way he can't really understand fear and concern, joy and desire. He comes close sometimes – but only through music. Music lets him truly immerse himself in emotions, drawing on the musician's passion and making it his own.
But no song lasts forever, a fact that Jazz is well aware of. Initially he tried to circumvent this by becoming a musician. He was never famous, but he had a small following. A small following who gushed over how meaningful his music was, how pure and true it was. Raving about the feelings that seemed to project from him on stage. Jazz could never quite decide whether he should find this amusing or annoying or saddening, but it doesn't really matter, because the tactic didn't work. No matter how hard he pushes himself, he can never quite reach his goal of feeling emotion. In the end, this is a good thing, because the day came that the world stopped turning.
Or so it seemed. He didn't immediately join the Autobot cause, choosing instead to continue following his goal, the music and emotion. But it doesn't last, and he does join the Autobots. At first it's not obvious, the good his dulled feelings are in this war, but after he's drafted for a special ops mission, he knows. Knows that he doesn't need to chase after impossible dreams anymore, because this, here, is where he belongs. What his spark was made for. But he keeps the music, because it gives him a persona, something to show others. Not just a cold, mysterious saboteur – even if that really was the most accurate description – but a friendly, trust-worthy comrade. He needs them to trust him, because then he can watch them, because he does not like to be unaware of anything.
His emotions don't fade anymore, but he's no longer making the effort to force them deeper, settling contentedly with what he has instead. Then he joins the Elite, and the few remaining worries he has dissipate. It doesn't matter if one of these people realize his defficincies. After all, nobody expects a member of the Elite to be completely sane. Still, he hides behind the music, and when he really, really needs a release, he does it through music, and he no longer knows why. Sometimes he worries about it, but not often. After all…
It's not really that important. On the off chance that he does survive this war – and that'll only happen if the Autobot's manage to win, which, if he's honest with himself, might not happen – he won't be leaving the army. He's Special Ops now, the best of them. Quite frankly, he doesn't think he can survive outside of that position, sort of like he doesn't think he can survive without music. So it doesn't really matter in the end.